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IX.

TLALALA.

As now the rites were ended, Caradoc
Came from the ships, leading an Azteca

Guarded and bound. Prince Madoc, said the Bard,
Lo! the first captive of our arms I bring.
Alone, beside the river I had stray'd,

When from his lurking place, the savage hurl'd
A javelin. At the rustle of the reeds,

From whence the blow was aim'd, I turn'd in time,
And heard it whizz beside me.

Well it was,

That from the ships they saw and succour'd me;

For, subtle as a serpent in my grasp,
He seemed all joint and flexure; nor had I
Armour to ward, nor weapon to offend,
To battle all unused and unprepared ;

But I too here upon this barbarous land,
Like Elmur and like Aronan of old,

Must lift the ruddy spear.

This is no day

For vengeance, answered Madoc, else his deed
Had met no mercy. Freely let him go!
Perchance the tidings of our triumph here.
May yet reclaim his country. . . Azteca,
Go, let your Pabas know that we have crush'd
Their complots here; beneath our righteous sword

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The Priest and his false Deity have fallen;
The idols are consumed, and in their stead
The emblems of our holy faith set up,
Whereof the Hoamen have this day been made
Partakers. Say to Aztlan, when she too
Will make her temples clean, and put away
Her foul abominations, and accept

The Christian Cross, that Madoc then accords
Forgiveness for the past, and peace to come.
This better part let her, of her free will
And wisdom chuse in time.

Till Madoc spake,

The captive reckless of his peril stood,
Gazing with resolute and careless eye,
As one in whom the lot of life or death
Moved neither fear nor feeling; but that eye
Now sparkling with defiance, Seek ye peace?
He cried: O weak and woman-hearted man!
Already wouldst thou lay the sword to rest?
Not with the burial of the sword this strife
Must end, for never doth the Tree of Peace
Strike root and flourish, till the strong man's hand
Upon his enemy's grave hath planted it.
Come ye to Aztlan then in quest of peace?
Ye feeble souls, if that be what ye seek
Fly hence! our Aztlan suffers on her soil
No living stranger.

Do thy bidding, Chief!
Calmly Cadwallon answered. To her choice
Let Aztlan look, lest what she now reject
In insolence of strength, she take upon her,
In sorrow and in suffering and in shame,

By strong compulsion, penitent too late.

Thou hast beheld our ships with gallant men Freighted, a numerous force,.. and for our arms, . . Surely thy nation hath acquired of them

Disastrous knowledge.

Exclaim'd the savage:..

Curse upon your arms!

Is there one among you

Dare lay that cowardly advantage by,

And meet me, man to man, in honest strife?
That I might grapple with him, weaponless,
On yonder rock, breast against breast, fair force
Of limb and breath and blood,.. till one, or both,
Dash'd down the shattering precipice, should feed
The mountain eagle! . . Give me, I beseech you,
That joy!

As wisely, said Cynetha's son
Thy foe might challenge thee, and bid thee let
Thy strong right hand hang idle in the fray,
That so his weakness with thy strength might cope
In equal battle!.. Not in wrongful war,
The tyrants of our weaker bretheren,

Wield we these dreadful arms, . . but when assail'd
By fraud and force, when call'd upon to aid
The feeble and oppressed, shall we not

Then put our terrors forth, and thunder-strike
The guilty?

Silently the Savage heard;

Joy brighten'd in his eyes, as they unloosed

His bonds; he stretch'd his arms at length, to feel

His liberty, and like a greyhound then

Slipt from the leash, he bounded o'er the hills.

What was from early morning till noon day

The steady travel of a well-girt man,

He with fleet feet and unfatiguable,

In three short hours hath traversed; in the lake
He plunged, now shooting forth his pointed arms,
Arrow-like darting on; recumbent now,
Forces with springing feet his easier way;

Then with new speed, as freshen'd by repose,
Again he breasts the water.

On the shore

Of Aztlan now he stands, and breathes at will,
And wrings his dripping locks; then through the gate
Pursued his way.

Green garlands deck the gate;
Gay are the temples with green boughs affix'd;
The door-posts and the lintels hung with wreaths
The fire of sacrifice, with flames bedimm'd,
Burns in the sun-light, pale; the victims wait
Around, impatient of their death delay'd.
The Priest, before Tezcalipoca's shrine,
Watches the maize-strewn threshold, to announce
The footsteps of the God; for this the day,
When to his favour'd city he vouchsafes
His annual presence, and, with unseen feet,

Imprints the maize-strewn threshold; follow'd soon
By all whose altars with eternal fires

Aztlan illumed, and fed with human blood;..
Mexitli, woman-born, who from the womb,
Child of no mortal sire, leapt terrible,
The arm'd avenger of his mother's fame;
And he whose will the subject winds obey,
Quetzalcoal; and Tlaloc, Water-God,
And all the host of Deities, whose power
Requites with bounty Aztlan's pious zeal,

Health and rich increase giving to her sons,
And withering in the war her enemies.

So taught the Priests, and therefore were the gates
Green-garlanded, the temples green with boughs,
The door-posts and the lintels hung with wreaths;
And yonder victims, ranged around the fire,
Are destin'd, with the steam of sacrifice,

To greet their dreadful coming

With the train

Of warrior Chiefs Coanacotzin stood,

That when the Priest proclaim'd the enter'd God, His lips before the present Deity

Might pour effectual prayer. The assembled Chiefs
Saw Tlalala approach, more welcome now,

As one whose absence from the appointed rites
Had waken'd fear and wonder... Think not ye,
The youth exclaim'd, careless impiety

Could this day lead me wandering. I went forth
To dip my javelin in the Strangers' blood,..
A sacrifice, methought, our Gods had loved.
To scent, and sooner hasten'd to enjoy.
I fail'd, and fell a prisoner; but their fear
Released me,.. coward fear, or childish hope,
That, like Yuhidthiton, I might become

Their friend, and merit chastisement from Heaven,
Pleading the Strangers' cause. They bade me go
And proffer peace... Chiefs, were it possible
That tongue of mine could win you to that shame,
Out would I pluck the member, though my soul
Followed its bloody roots. The Stranger finds
No peace in Aztlan, but the peace of death!

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